


Cosmic Irony | Karmic Justice

by Molly



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: First Time, M/M, Slash, sentinel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-21
Updated: 2008-09-21
Packaged: 2017-10-02 00:42:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Molly/pseuds/Molly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>In which Jim and Blair find luv at the Star of the American Road, and Steve Young's qualifications as a guide are discussed as a prelude to much angst and a dismaying lack of discretion. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Jim...air?...."

The words were lost in the din of sirens and shouting, just the barest exhalation hissed out over clenched teeth. It was all Blair could manage, but he knew it would be enough; the super-sensitive ear he was aiming for was presently less than an inch from his lips. _Gotta be more careful what I wish for,_ he reflected, trying ineffectually to create a little space betwen his rib cage and that of his partner. _You there, God? This is so not what I had in mind..._

As Jim's not-inconsiderable bulk flattened him into a Guide pancake against the pavement, Blair fought for another breath, renewing his efforts to free himself. "C'mon, Jim," he gasped, trying to wriggle out from underneath. "Asphyxiating Guide here...Jim?" _Oh man...if he zones I'm gonna die of oxygen deprivation in the parking lot of a Texaco station...next time just let 'em shoot me..._ "JIM!"

He'd been knocked out of the path of the bullet, which surely had the word 'Sandburg' etched on the casing, by about two hundred pounds of pissed-off Sentinel. Blair was fairly sure Jim had managed to take out the gunman on his way down; the shooting had stopped, and he could hear Simon shouting at somebody. Both were very good signs that the firefight was over, but with Blair conscious and unharmed it paid to be cautious. Lately, a shootout just didn't seem complete until he'd spent ten minutes on oxygen in the back of a speeding ambulance. He was on a first name basis with half the EMT's in Cascade; the other half thought his name was "Chief."

_How do they always manage to hit me?_ he wondered, suddenly irritated. _Man, it's like they don't even have to aim....discharge a firearm in the State of Washington and the bullet will somehow end up lodged in whatever part of Blair Sandburg can least afford it..._

Blair was fully geared up, prepared to spend the last moments of his life griping to himself about the careless whims of fate, when the voice he'd been waiting for interrupted the whining of his inner child. "You okay, Chief?"

Suddenly the weight lifted, moved to the side, and blue eyes gazed down into his own, warm concern replacing the emptiness of a zone-out. Blair was unprepared; with no time to steel himself, the sheer force of personality in those eyes struck a chord deep within him. Blair swallowed hard and cut his glance to the side, biting down hard on his lower lip to replace passion with pain. _The eyes are lethal, don't look at the eyes...look someplace else. Anyplace else. Where's Simon?_ He conjured an image of the captain's face, easily fitting it with a familiar expression of utter and absolute disgust, and sighed with relief as his body cooled down Gulping air, Blair tried to rise and steady himself.

"Still with me, Sandburg? He missed you by a mile."

"Yeah, I know," Blair said through clenched teeth, more frustrated than hurt. "You didn't, though. You were right on target."

Jim rolled his eyes. "So you got tackled; it's not the first time. You'd rather I let you take a bullet?" he demanded.

"Gee, Jim...I don't know...let me think it over while the paramedics re-inflate my lungs."

"You're a riot, Sandburg. You're killing me here." The words were light-hearted, but the Sentinel's touch was gentle, solicitous as he helped Blair to his feet.

Enhanced senses swept over him, cataloguing responses, heart rate, breathing... _I am so not turned on right now,_ Blair lectured himself sternly, ignoring the liquid heat that flooded him under his partner's full attention, praying to nameless gods that he wouldn't blush. _This is simply an adrenaline high brought about by exposure to events of extreme danger and intensity. A completely understandable, well-documented reaction to a crisis situation._ He took a few deep, cleansing breaths, reigning in excitement. If he could convince himself, even for just a moment, chances were he could convince Jim, too.

_Showtime._ He ran a hand quickly through his hair, settling it into some semblence of order, then turned a patented Sandburg Sincerity Special on his friend. He made his eyes wide and bright with carefully constructed innocence, and bounced a little, just for effect, as he grinned at Jim. "That was way cool, man. One for the home team!"

Irritation sparked in Jim's eyes. "Some lunatic nearly ventilates your chest, and you think it's cool?"

Blair hid a smile and leaned back against the truck, recognizing the prologue of Jim's 'Risk your life again and I'll shoot you myself' rant with barely concealed relief. He was fairly sure that the rant he should be getting, the 'No entertaining lustful thoughts about the Blessed Protector' rant, would have ended with an eviction at best, and quite likely a murder as well. The kind of slow, messy, painful murder they probably taught in Covert Operations. _They'd never find my body...if they even looked...yeah, I'd say we can put off that discussion, like, forever._

Blair let the lecture flow over him, careful to nod contritely at appropriate intervals, and tried to review his actions objectively. It was true, he'd violated one of the official Job Rules by following Jim into action and then proceeding to act as if he had a mind of his own. Jim came down against that sort of thing with frightening consistency. Never mind that if Blair hadn't stood up to yell, a couple of kids on bikes would have been in the line of fire instead of himself. Everybody else had been too tightly focused on the gunman inside the store to notice the rubber-necking teenyboppers cruising toward the parking lot. Besides, it had worked out fine; Blair saved the kids, Jim saved Blair, and evil no longer haunted the Star of the American Road. It was like poetry, the two of them moving in perfect cadence: Sentinel and Guide, protecting the Tribe.

"Well?"

The demanding note in Jim's voice jolted Blair out of neutral and into reverse, rewinding the conversation in his head. Some sort of response was expected... required even...but he wasn't able to track the question. "Uh...yeah, Jim...I'm really sorry," he offered, figuring the odds were fifty-fifty at least.

"You weren't listening to a word I said, were you, Sandburg?" Jim demanded.

A part of Blair watched with an abject -- but not entirely unfamiliar -- sense of horror as his mouth disconnected from his brain and went into overdrive. "Of course I was! I always listen to you, Jim. It was...uh...really eloquent. You must've practiced that one in front of a mirror; you really outdid yourself, man. We'll have your final score as soon as we get numbers back from the German judges -- who probably heard you just fine, by the way--" _Oh, god...what am I doing? He's going to kill me, and I'm going to deserve it...._

"Sandburg." Jim's voice was soft, but dark with danger, cutting through Blair's monologue and shutting it down.

"Yes, Jim?" Blair said, low and miserable. _Way to go, Sandburg, you just shot yourself in the heart. Here it comes...you want the loft key, Jim? Want your spare bedroom back? Want to rethink this whole Guide thing, this Observer thing, maybe this friendship thing, too?_

Blair closed his eyes, hiding the rising panic, and waited for the explosion.

  
   


* * *

  
   


Jim Ellison sighed, and looked away from the pathetic figure slumped against his truck. He could feel that muscle in his jaw starting to twitch again, an unfriendly little tic that boded well for no one. He clamped down on it, which of course just made it worse, and wondered what he'd ever done in his life to deserve a partner like Blair Sandburg.

The man had no concept of personal safety and no compunctions about disobeying orders. He was afraid of heights, but standing up in a rain of bullets didn't give him the slightest twinge of concern. As a scientist he dedicated himself to the search for truth, but he lied with an ease, skill, and frequency that raised the practice to an art form. He could be as kind and understanding as Jim had ever known any man to be, and a moment later say something so incredibly sharp it left you bleeding.

And he could make you want to kill him, then look at you with a depth of misery...

Jim caved in under that look every time; he knew it, and Blair knew it. And lately, the kid had started doing this new thing, this closing-his-eyes thing, to eliminate the unfair advantage.

Unfortunately, it had exactly the opposite effect. Every damn time, Jim was moved by the sacrifice, by Blair's willingness to give up what was essentially his only weapon for the sake of fairness. It was...honorable, in a crazy, Sandburg kind of way; something Jim hadn't expected at the beginning, but had come to understand and appreciate.

The eyes were almost easier to take.

With a sigh, Jim reached for Blair's shoulder and squeezed it gently. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt able to refuse this man anything. Often, lately, he wondered if there had ever been such a time.

So Jim smiled, just a little, not ready to let Sandburg completely off the hook but not wanting him to suffer anymore, either. "Come on, chief," he said, amused resignation lightening his voice. "Get in the truck; I promise not to bite your head off."

The smile that broke through Blair's worry was nearly blinding, yet another look Jim couldn't resist. "Thanks, Jim," the kid said quietly.

Jim smiled back, and gave his Guide's shoulder a gentle shove. "Just put in a good word with those judges, Sandburg, and we'll call it even."

Blair's laughter, mixed with his, was a sweet, comfortable sound.


	2. Karmic Justice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In which Steve Young's qualifications as a guide are discussed as a prelude to much angst and a dismaying lack of discretion. _

"Come on, Jim. This is not rocket science, you can do this if you'll just concentrate." Even as he spoke, Blair knew it was over; his partner's eyes hadn't left the TV set since the Forty-niner's took the field over an hour ago. It was easier to pull the man back from a zone-out than to tear him away from what he considered a hot contest.

"I am concentrating," Jim answered without turning. "I'm concentrating on the game."

Blair groaned, and threw himself back against the couch cushions. "Man, you are killing me. You know, if we don't do these tests, I'm never gonna finish my dissertation. If I don't finish my dissertation, I'm never gonna get my doctorate and if I don't get my doctorate, you are stuck with me as a roommate for the rest of your natural life." Blair paused for just a moment to enjoy the thrill of excitement that tingled through him at that prospect. _Friend mode, Sandburg,_ he reminded himself. _Guide mode. Friend and Guide. Shut it down._ "Is the game really worth that to you? Because if it is, I'll just shut up now."

Jim turned away from the TV set and grinned. "Promises, promises," he said. "Look, we'll do the test at half-time, okay? Sooner, if Young's linemen don't get their act together."

"He went down again?" Blair leaned forward, looking for number eight, trying not to seem interested as his eyes tracked the red uniforms spread out over the field. He wasn't generally fond of football, but he liked Steve Young; the 'Niner's starting quarterback was one of the few people Blair knew of in the world who got knocked around on the job more often than he did. Of course, when Young finally took one concussion too many, he'd have the comfort of millions to fall back on. Blair would have, at best, a dissertation he probably couldn't publish and a permanent assignment to Jim's desk. When he factored in getting shot at, nearly blown up, held hostage, and kidnapped by psychopaths, Blair had to seriously wonder if the City of Cascade didn't at least owe him a pension plan. "How many times has he been injured this season?"

"Three, and that's just the head shots. The man needs a Blessed Protector at least as much as you do."

"Yeah? Well, don't go applying for the position; I'm not done with you yet." Blair let his eyes rest on Jim's for just a moment, then stood up. Pining wasn't working for him, but getting a little buzzed just might. "I'm getting a beer. You want one?"

"You sure it won't interfere with your little experiment?"

"No more than your total lack of cooperation," Blair muttered under his breath.

"I heard that."

Blair rolled his eyes behind Jim's back. Of course he heard it. Jim heard everything. If Blair didn't know better, he'd think hearing was the one sense over which Jim had complete control. Sentinel vision could come and go. Sentinel touch and taste and smell were haphazard on occasion. But let Blair even think of saying something he didn't want overheard, and Jim knew about it. _The man is wired for sound,_ he thought fondly, fighting for some sense of scientific detachment and, once again, losing. It had been a very long time since he'd seen a victory in that arena.

The man was flat-out beautiful. Blair didn't know why the gods had chosen to curse him with a partner, a Sentinel, who looked like one of their own; he just knew he was well and truly cursed. He hoped the higher-ups were watching, because whatever minor deity was in charge of fucking up Blair Sandburg's life was doing one hell of a job. How a guy -- and that was a separate torture entirely -- could be so absolutely everything Blair ever wanted, and yet be completely and totally unattainable, was a mystery. _My Karma is seriously wrecked._

He just hoped whatever it was had been worth the agony of longing for the untouchable Detective James Ellison.

Blair nearly groaned as his feelings dove past aesthetic appreciation and into desire. Just when he thought he had a handle on it, just when he thought whatever madness had possessed him had finally run its course. It caught him off-guard, striking both heart and body, spreading dark red heat through every part of him.

_If I don't get out of here I'm going to attack him,_ Blair thought in rising panic. _I'm going to just leap on him and he'll think I'm on drugs or something. That Golden stuff again, maybe. Hm. I wonder if I could....No._ Blair shook his head. Molesting Jim and then trying to pass it off as a drug-induced episode of temporary insanity might work -- but only until they brought Blair's battered, bleeding body into the emergency room and ran a blood test. It would come up clean, and then Jim would seriously kill him.

_I am letting this go,_ he said to himself desperately. It worked for anger, why not soul-churning lust? _I am letting this go...I am letting this go..._ He fought to calm the wild racing of his heart, to slow the quick, shallow breaths bursting from his lungs. _Think about something else. Get a grip. Relax. Breathe._

The internal pep talk did him no good at all; the Guide Voice that worked so well on Jim and everybody else was a complete loss when he tried it on himself.

Blair had taken three steps toward his partner before he knew he was moving.

  
   


* * *

  
   


"Jim."

Something about Blair's voice turned him, a strange note of urgency. That urgency was translated into panic in the younger man's expression, blue eyes bright and wide and not quite rational. Belatedly, Jim opened himself to sound and immediately picked up his partner's rapidly escalating heartbeat.

"What is it, Sandburg?" he demanded, eyes scanning the loft for anything that might have scared the kid..

Total lockdown. Jim thought he could actually see the walls slamming into place in Blair's eyes, panic replaced suddenly by a blank look that was almost worse than the fear. Just as quickly, the blankness passed; Jim watched in silent amazement as Blair smiled, a little too brightly, and grabbed his jacket from the hook near the door.

"Out of beer, man. I'll make a run. You need anything?"

Jim shook his head slowly. "Blair, what the hell--"

"I'll be back in about half an hour, ok?"

"Half an hour to drive a mile--?"

"I'm gonna walk. I could use the air." Blair's smile flashed again. "Later, Jim..."

Without a backward glance, Blair was gone.

  
   


* * *

  
   


Jim winced as the door slammed, glaring at the space his partner had occupied just five seconds ago. _Thanks a lot Blair thanks that hurt like hell and I'm gonna kill you for it when you get back but hey at least I can have a beer while I clean up the blood..._ He closed his eyes and tried to breathe the way Blair had taught him: Slow and even, focusing on the imaginary dial in his head that would, with any luck, make his ears feel a little less like somebody was pounding nails into them.

Worse than the pain, though, or worse than that particular pain, was the total confusion that washed over him when Blair walked out. _Walked? The kid broke land-speed records to get away from me. Someone, somewhere is playing Chariots of Fire just for Blair Sandburg._ Jim Ellison wasn't accustomed to feeling confused, and he found that he didn't care for it at all.

Something was up. Something was seriously up with his partner, and Jim was completely shut out of it. One second Blair was just Blair, droning on about his tests and theories and how sadly abused he was by just about everybody, and the next second he was absolutely babbling. A lot of people would have had a hard time distinguishing that truly surreal and disturbing spiel about the beer from typical Sandburg rambling, but Jim had made a hobby out of listening to Blair. Most of the time Blair probably thought he was ignoring him or tuning him out, maybe even zoning, but the truth was, the kid had a great voice and it was damn distracting.

_Just say it, Ellison. The kid has a great just about everything._

It had taken about two weeks for Jim to realize Sandburg was going to be a real problem. First there'd been the thing with the Switchman -- he'd been so damn proud of the kid, punching Veronica out like that. Of course, Blair had freaked out over it, laying a guilt trip on himself like a layer of bricks. At first Jim thought Blair had been upset about hitting a woman, but an hour of his relentless pacing and self-abuse convinced Jim that hitting anybody would have traumatized his new partner. Jim took such minor violence as a matter of course; cops slugged people all the time. It wasn't something you liked to do, but sometimes you had to, and eventually you just got past worrying about it. Anthropologists, however, were something different. Anthropologists were very seldom, if ever, called upon to do violence to anything higher up the food chain than dinner. And for a while, Blair's almost unhealthy fascination with leafy green vegetables had Jim convinced that even dinner could trigger a guilt complex.

And so that was how it started. Respect and a suspiciously proprietary sense of pride had become friendship, which had in turn become a partnership solid as bedrock. Blair knew without asking when Jim was upset about something, and somehow knew just the right words to talk him down. Jim could tell when Blair was tense, or scared, or angry, and more often than not could either tease him out of it or talk him through it. Jim wasn't really big on talking, but with Sandburg it was most often just a matter of getting him started, then surviving the flood of information.

The partnership had become close. And then closer. And then suddenly, there was this affection thing. This 'he smiles and I feel ten feet tall' thing, where one trusting glance from those blue eyes made Jim's heart turn over.

And everything was different.

Better, in some ways. It had been a long time since Jim had anyone to love. Before Carolyn, even, though God knew he'd tried with her. Living with Blair, loving Blair, was the easiest and most complicated thing he'd ever done. He knew Blair -- and just about everybody else -- had to be wondering when 'one week and your butt's on the street' had become 'why don't we put up some doors on your room and by the way, how about getting your own phone line'. Jim just couldn't bring himself to discuss it, and he didn't really think it was necessary. He wasn't about to put Blair's name on the deed or anything, but Jim wasn't letting him move out, either. They were a team, and they were staying together. Anybody who had a problem with that, up to and including Blair Sandburg, was going to have a hell of a fight on his hands. And Jim had no intention of fighting fair.

Blair was a smart guy, he'd figured out he wasn't a guest anymore. Guests didn't steal your best sweater because they'd put their own in with the whites and bleached it. (Not that Jim had minded in the slightest; Blair looked fantastic in that red sweater, and it had been great fun watching him push the sleeves up over and over throughout the day.) Guests didn't knock holes in your living room walls to hang up the ceremonial masks of the Whatsit tribe of Whereverthehell. They certainly didn't make you eat tofu when you wanted egg fu yung, and they almost never invited their hippie peacenik new-age mom over to your place for a three-day visit. In just a few short months, Blair had made himself more at home in Jim's loft than Carolyn had ever been, to the point that it wasn't even really Jim's loft anymore. It was theirs.

The thought made Jim grin to himself. _Next thing I know I'll be picking out china,_ he thought with amused disgust. _Only knowing Blair, it'd be earthenware, something made in the dark inner reaches of Borneo by some tribe whose name nobody could pronounce. And each dish would have a story behind it. Blair would lean over the table, ignoring his food, talking with his hands, so excited. His voice would be low and sweet, and those blue eyes would practically glow in the light from the candles he sometimes insisted on and... oh, God, Ellison... get a grip on yourself!_

He shook himself out of that train of thought quickly, before it could derail into territory best left unexplored. Loving Blair was familiar, sweet, but Jim was still new to the passion part of it. He'd never wanted another man, not until he'd returned from that zone-out with Blair underneath him just a few days earlier. His Blair, looking up at him, so distressed, so concerned...and all Jim wanted at that moment was to lean down and kiss him. Taste him. Erase the distress and replace it with...distress of different kind.

It was life-shattering, it was insane, and it was the most intense physical response he'd ever had to anyone in his life. Since then, Jim ached just thinking about Blair's eyes. Just thinking about his hair. His mouth. God, his mouth was beautiful...

_Enough!_ Jim stood up suddenly, jaw clenched tight. He was not going to sit there pining after a man who'd just hit mach two to get away from him. There was more to life, damn it. There was work. There were women, if he wanted them. There were the Jags, and then the Mariners, and in the off season there were the 'Niner's. There were books to read, things to learn, people to know. There were any number of pleasures in the world that had absolutely nothing to do with Blair Sandburg's mouth.

_Ice water,_ Jim ordered himself firmly. _Ice water, then a cold shower. Two cold showers._

It just might be enough.

He headed for the kitchen, found a glass, and opened the refrigerator to grab the water jug. He had to rearrange several items to get to it: Half an onion covered with Saran wrap, a tub of something yellow that could only be identified as not-butter, two six-packs of beer...

Jim froze, eyes narrowing. Two six packs. Brown bottles, full, cold. Sweating, actually, as warm and cool air mingled.

He reached in and pulled one from the cardboard container, examining the label.

Yeah. Definitely beer.

In a moment not too distant, Blair Sandburg was going to have a lot of explaining to do.

  
   


* * *

  
   


"Damn it, Blair!"

"Sorry, sorry...are you okay?" Blair grabbed Sarah's hand and pushed her sleeve back, examining the wrist he'd just battered with a copy of Gray's Anatomy.

"Ow! Easy! Ask me again when the bleeding stops. What is with you tonight?"

Blair sighed, letting go of the conspicuously uninjured limb. Sarah could complain for days about absolutely nothing; Blair didn't even want to think of what she could do with a valid excuse. A distraction was obviously in order. "See that clock over there?" he asked, jerking his head toward his desk.

"Ye-es...?"

"It's telling me I have exactly half an hour before my roommate comes looking for me with half the police force at his back." _And probably wearing that kevlar vest, too,_ Blair thought, not even trying to suppress the hot flash.

Her green eyes went wide with curiosity. "Ah. Mooning over Ellison again?"

Blair shot her an annoyed look from under the concealment of his hair. Trust Sarah to know exactly what was wrong -- and to display absolutely no tact about it whatsoever. At thirty, the woman had all the social graces of a slightly retarded five-year-old.

Blair decided he'd probably been the unwitting agent of a just Fate, and stopped feeling guilty about dropping the book on her. "Give it a rest, Sarah," he said with finality. "I'm not going over this thing again. Besides, it's a known fact that Blair Sandburg doesn't moon over anybody. People moon over me. It's one of the cosmic constants of the universe."

"What's wrong with this picture?" she demanded. "I spill my guts to you, and then you turn around and act like your love life is a state secret?"

He sighed. This had been a bad idea from the start. He really had meant to stop for beer, but his feet had other plans; he'd passed the corner store and kept going. Eventually he found himself standing outside his office, staring at the wash of light from under the door, cursing himself for ten kinds of idiot. He'd forgotten about Sarah and her wacky hours; she worked a schedule that made even his look sane. He'd given her the key to his office a few weeks ago when she'd been assigned as his research assistant.

It had taken about half an hour to figure out that he'd gotten her because no one else would have her; it had taken five minutes more than that to figure out why. She was hard-working, detail oriented, brilliant, and fairly easy on the eyes. She was also the most irritating human being in the Continental United States. Disgruntled postal workers had more charm and restraint than Sarah Parker, and were probably easier to talk to. The first time he'd seen her meeting with a student, he'd looked on with the morbid fascination of someone watching a train wreck in slow motion. The poor undergrad had gone away almost in tears, probably to change her major to something less stressful. Organic chemistry, maybe, or particle physics.

"You still in there, Doc?" she said. "The clock is ticking, and I have other patients waiting."

"My love life is supposed to be a private," he said calmly. "And don't call me 'Doc', I hate that." The low, even Guide voice that soothed Jim so easily never failed to irritate the hell out of Sarah; Blair used it every chance he got. "It's not my fault you told me everything about you and David. It's not like I asked or anything."

"You didn't have to," Sarah said, scowling. "You just gave me that look, and it all came out. I have no idea how you do that."

Blair grinned, more than a little smug. "That is a state secret," he said.

"Yeah? Well, it works both ways. Those expressive blues of yours were a dead giveaway. Good thing you don't look at Ellison like that when he's paying attention."

Blair rolled his eyes. "Paying attention? To me? As if. Believe me, the two seconds of attention I get from Jim per week inevitably fall when I'm screwing something up. Any lust he might see in my eyes he reads as purely scientific."

Sarah snorted. It did little to raise Blair's estimate of her attractiveness. "So when your blood pressure spikes, you go all red in the face, and your eyes glow like they're suddenly radio-active...he thinks it's just because he's a member of a closed society."

Blair grinned. "Either that, or I've been eating too much Thai food. Come on, Sarah. This isn't getting you any closer to finishing your paper, is it? Why don't we concentrate on the problem at hand?"

It was Sarah's turn to sigh and look away, pushing a strand of long blond hair behind one ear and sliding her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "The paper's not due till next week," she said after a moment's silence. "I didn't really come here to work. I was just--"

"Hiding out," Blair finished for her. For a moment his own worries were forgotten as he focused in on Sarah. Once you got past the annoyance factor, she was a fairly decent person. She cared; she just didn't want anybody to know it. In that way she was not unlike a certain detective of Blair's acquaintance. "What's David done this time?" he asked now, genuinely concerned.

"Who," Sarah said, rolling her eyes, though whether at her boyfriend's infidelity or her own naiveté was anyone's guess. "The word you're looking for is 'who'. And the answer is: Miss Jane C. Co-ed from his Primitive Religions class. I don't know her name; I've just seen them around together. Tonight he needed to 'drop off some study materials' for her."

"Is that what they're calling it these days?" Blair said quietly, not bothering to conceal his disgust. Sarah had been seeing David Brewster for three months, which was about two and a half months longer than anybody else had lasted with him since he blew into the department. He was the kind of guy everybody loved...except for those few perceptive souls who couldn't stand him. Suave, cultured, handsome, easygoing -- and completely untrustworthy. Blair had filed David away in the mental space he generally reserved for poisonous spiders and thesis advisors, and avoided the man whenever possible.

Where Sarah's much-vaunted powers of perception had been the day David asked her out remained a mystery. Or where they'd been every day thereafter, for that matter. She was way too smart to get mixed up with a guy like that. _Top of the food chain, and our brains still don't stand a chance when the hormones kick in. Bipedalism, increased cranial capacity, opposable thumbs, and we still fuck first and ask questions later. The first tools we made were probably sex toys._

"I just needed to redefine my boundaries," Sarah was saying softly. "Reclaim some personal space, you know?"

"And you figured since I wasn't using mine...?" Blair softened the words with a smile. His on-campus presence had declined sharply since Major Crimes became his second home. "You can hide out here anytime, Sarah. I just wish you'd--"

"Confront him, talk to him, tell him how I feel?" Her eyes were angry when they met Blair's, and he flinched in surprise. "You have no room to talk, Blair. At least I've had the guts to try..."

"Yeah," Blair shot back, surprised into self-defense. "And look at you now! If this is what courage gets you, I'll take cowardice every time, thank you very much."

Sarah winced. "Ouch."

"Likewise," Blair said, nodding sharply as his nostrils flared with quick breaths. "That was a pretty low blow, even for you."

She reached across the space between their chairs and squeezed his hand. "Sorry," she said, meeting his eyes. "I'm just...."

"Wired," Blair said. He squeezed her fingers briefly, then stood up to pace off the adrenaline spike from their near-quarrel. "It's okay. I know how it is. My shot was pretty low, too."

"God, what a pair we make. You think there's room for us on Oprah?"

Blair grinned, feeling the tension ease. "I think we're into Geraldo territory here. Oblivious men and the neurotic grad students who love them."

Sarah stood up, her lips firming into a hard line. "Not for me. I'm going to talk to David. You're right, I can't just keep all this tucked away."

"Good for you!" Blair said, moving to get the door for her. "Tell him where you stand."

"Blair...it wouldn't hurt for you to do the same, you know. Ellison's going to figure it out sooner or later; wouldn't you rather tell him yourself?"

Blair shoved her out into the corridor and shut the door firmly behind her. He leaned up against it, eyes locked unseeing on the far wall. Tell Jim? Not even if his very life depended on it. It was bad enough he had to go home now and lie. To go home and tell the truth was...unthinkable. _Not to mention unimaginably bad for my continued physical well-being,_ he thought with grim amusement.

"Honesty is the best policy!" Sarah's sharp voice called from outside.

"Obfuscation is the safest," he answered under his breath.

Then he grabbed his backpack and keys, and headed home to face the music.

  
   


* * *

  
   


"Look, Chief. You either cut back on the hours at the University, cut back on the hours at the station, or cut back on the hours you spend on your social life. I don't give a damn which you pick, but something is going to give starting right now because I am not going to sit here and watch you self-destruct in front of me. Are you getting this, Sandburg?"

Jim was in mid-rant yet again, and Blair was in mid-sulk. Or maybe he hadn't quite made it to the middle part yet; the full treatment required a slow, steady work-up. It took practice and commitment to achieve a sulk like that, and Blair   
had devoted a significant amount of time to the effort since moving in with Jim   
Ellison.

The conversation had started off badly, with Blair just barely functional   
after only three hours of fitful dozing; he'd come home to a dark and silent   
loft, and spent hours channeling his chaotic emotions into work. Sometime around   
4 am he'd crashed, the exams he'd been grading scattered around him like light   
blue confetti. His abrupt foray into consciousness had been precipitated by a   
none-too-gentle shaking and an unexpected transition to the vertical. Blair   
found himself sitting on the sofa instead of lying on it, with only Jim's steady   
grip on his shoulders keeping him upright.

It took Blair a full minute to remember who he was, where he was, and why he   
needed to be awake. Unfortunately, that was thirty seconds longer than it took   
Jim to start yelling.

"Geez, man, time out!" Blair climbed slowly to his feet, making sure he was   
standing far enough away that he didn't have to crane his neck to yell back.   
"Since when is my schedule on the ever-lengthening list of things you're in   
charge of? Since when do you get to tell me how to run my life?" A yawn he   
couldn't contain robbed his words of any true force, and brought a flush of   
mingled anger and embarrassment to his cheeks.

Jim shook his head in obvious disgust. "Since you ran out last night to buy   
beer, two six packs of which were sitting happily in our fridge at the time, and   
came back empty-handed. Since you started acting like a manic-depressive every   
time I see you. Since I came in here ten minutes ago and found you making like a   
corpse on the couch, using your laptop as a pillow, so dead tired it took five   
tries to wake you up," he listed, never pausing for breath as his voice rose.   
"This is no way to live, Blair. Either you cut back, or I cut back for you.   
Which is it going to be?"

"This is so not fair. Who are you to tell me--"

"Who am I?" Jim's voice went deathly quiet as he took a step closer. He was definitely within neck-craning range now, so close Blair could feel the heat coming off of his body, the fine lines around Jim's eyes and...mouth...

Blair closed his eyes tightly, suddenly not tired at all

"I thought I was your Blessed Protector," Jim said softly. His breath   
feathered across Blair's cheek, he was that close. Only a feat of iron will kept   
Blair from reaching up and wrapping a hand around the back of Jim's   
neck, pulling his head down and...

Blair swallowed hard and took a step back, turning away from Jim and trying   
to get his body back under conscious control. "That's for bullets and bombs and   
rapidly descending elevators, man. It's for psychopathic serial killers and rogue   
CIA agents. It's not for my work and it is definitely not for my   
love life, so just get that out of your head, okay?"

"It's for everything that puts you in danger, Sandburg, and if that includes   
you, then I'm damn well going to protect you from yourself. You've got to   
rest, Blair. You keep stretching yourself so thin, one day you're going   
to snap, and I don't want to have to pick up the pieces."

Blair's body went suddenly cold.   
There wasn't any passion to struggle with now; nothing like a knife through your   
heart to cool you down.

"Fine," he said carefully, turning to stare into the   
blue eyes that were so like his own. "You don't need the clutter, I'll just get   
out of your way." He grabbed his backpack from beside the couch and started for   
the door.

His stride hadn't taken him two steps before a hand on his arm   
swung him around, back into the battle.

"Where do you think you're going?!" Jim demanded, his hand painfully tight on   
Blair's shoulder.

Blair had no idea where he was going. He didn't think he'd find "Away from   
Jim Ellison" listed in any travel brochures, but he was betting that there was a   
flight leaving for somewhere within the hour and at that moment, he intended to   
be on it. He wasn't thinking about his work or his degree or his Sentinel   
research; all he wanted was to be breathing air that didn't smell like Jim,   
looking at things that didn't remind him of Jim. Living a life that didn't   
involve needing something he didn't understand from a man he couldn't have.

Maybe if he left now, while he was mad, he'd have the strength to leave for   
good. "Let go," he growled, ready to yank himself free even if it tore his arm   
off.

"Don't." The word was quiet, but no less an order.

"Why not?"

"Because if you leave you're not coming back, and this is not how either of   
us wants our partnership to end. Damn it, Blair, we're friends! Don't do this."

"Do what?"

"Wreck things because you're terrified to have somebody give a damn about   
you."

"Caring and controlling are not synonymous, Jim."

"I don't want to control your life, Sandburg, but somebody has to, and you're   
not even trying. Look," he finished in a quieter tone, smiling a little. "You're   
my Guide, your job is to back me up, right? How are you going to do that if   
you're always running on empty?"

"That is so   
below the belt. You're preying on this whole Sentinel-Guide connection   
thing and I know you don't believe in it."

"Maybe I believe more than you think."

Blair's eyes narrowed. "Meaning?"

"Meaning that when you're wiped out, Blair, it affects me. I don't   
know if that's because you're my Guide or because you're my friend, but it's   
true. I can't function right when you get like this. Cut me a break, kid --   
you're messing us both up."

Blair froze, his eyes going wide. Trust Jim to wait until the very end, the   
very last minute, before saying what was really on his mind. Trust Jim to hold   
back the only thing that made the argument make any sense, the only thing that   
could make it bearable. The anger drained away,   
and Blair didn't even try to call it back.

He sighed, and tossed his backpack onto the floor. "For God's sake, Jim. You   
could have said that earlier."

To his surprise, Jim blushed. Blushed. "I was mad earlier," Jim said   
finally. "I worry about you, Blair." He ran a hand over his cropped hair and   
shook his head. "Somebody has to," he repeated quietly.

Blair looked away, and began gathering up the graded exams that   
covered the floor around him. "It's just exam week," he said carefully. "That's   
always tough, you know that. This was the last batch I had to grade, though. It   
gets better from now on; I have the whole semester break to get back on an even   
keel. And hey, it's almost Christmas. Nothing like a holiday to put us all in a   
better frame of mind, right?"

"I thought you were Jewish."

Blair looked up, and grinned. "Are you kidding? Growing up with Naomi? Winter   
Solstice all the way, man. The Yuletide, and all that. You don't even want to   
think about the celebrations. I only got a barmitzvah because my grandmother   
turned on the guilt." Blair's voice went high and creaky in imitation. "'Naomi,   
I've so little time left, and now I won't live to see my only grandson, the last   
of my line, become a man. How can you do this to your old mother?'" He laughed,   
his voice returning to normal. "Naomi just caved. It was amazing."

Jim's laughter joined his own, and Blair found himself relaxing again. Funny   
how laughing with Jim made him feel -- like the world was on course and the   
planets were in their most auspicious alignment. Like everything was just the   
way it should be. "So what do you do for the holiday?" Jim asked when the   
laughter had run its course.

"Celebrate the true spirit of the season," Blair said, scanning the loft for   
good places to hang lights and running a quick mental balance of his check book.

"And that would be....?"

Blair's grin widened, eyes alight with anticipation. This Christmas could be   
a lot of fun. "Redistribution of goods, man. Reciprocity." He shouldered   
his backpack and headed for the door, turning back with an expectant look as he   
reached it.

At Jim's blank expression, Blair rolled his eyes. "Presents, Jim," he said.   
"Lots and lots of presents."

The panic in Jim's eyes had Blair chuckling all the way down to the street.

  
   


* * *

  
   


Blair finished early that afternoon, entering the last of the grades into the   
student database and posting them on the door to his office a full hour earlier   
than he'd expected. He scribbled his email address and phone number at the   
bottom of the grade sheet, silently cancelled his office hours, and headed for   
home.

For once, it looked like he'd have the place to himself. _No keys in the   
basket, no truck in the garage...perfect. A completely Ellison-free Zone._   
Grinning, Blair tossed his own keys at the basket, ignoring them when they hit   
the floor instead, and dumped his backpack on the couch. He paused just long   
enough to step out of his shoes on the way to the refrigerator, leaving them   
where they fell and flexing his toes with a happy sigh of relaxation. Time alone   
was a rare freedom in Blair's life, time alone in the loft even more so, and he   
intended to revel in it.

The temptation to make a mess in the kitchen was strong. He fought it off   
valiantly with reminders of his age and expected maturity level, leaving no   
trace that he, his beer, or his sandwich had ever been there. Feet on the coffee   
table were a given; there was no way to resist that urge and Blair didn't even   
try. He settled himself on the couch, easing back into the cushions and only   
belatedly remembering to look for the remote control. It was on the television,   
of all places, and he took a moment to consider whether to trade his present   
comfort for whatever came on TV at four in the afternoon.

He couldn't remember when he'd suffered through a happier dilemma. He'd been   
thinking about it in a blissful daze for three full minutes when the phone rang,   
yanking him back into the real world.

Whoever it is, whatever they want, I'm saying no, Blair swore   
silently. No I'm not going to the station, no I'm not going back to the   
University, no I'm not taking over anybody's class or grading anybody's papers   
or giving anybody's tests...just NO. If it requires me to put my shoes   
back on, I'm not doing it.

"Hello?"

"Blair? It's Sarah. Are you ok? You sound kind of angry."

He laughed, relaxing against the cushions again and cradling the phone in the   
crook of his neck. "Yeah, no, I'm not mad. I was just gearing up to fight like   
hell for my night off. Where are you?"

"Back in your office. You know, you could rent it out if you're never going   
to use it."

"Sorry, all my guilt circuits are temporarily disabled. Try back tomorrow.   
No, wait. I'm off tomorrow, too. Try back after the holidays."

"Don't worry, I don't want to torment you and I don't need any favors. I   
just need a tiny break from the endless tide of 101 papers and personal   
crises."

"I am not unfamiliar with that need. What can I do? Tell you a story, sing a   
song...?"

"Tell me your life is in better shape than mine. I need to know there's   
hope." The laughter that followed the words over the wire was tinged with   
bitterness, changing the tone of the conversation instantly.

"Sarah, are you okay? Do you need me to come down there? Forget what I said   
before; if you need me, I'm out the door now."

"No. I mean, yeah, it would be nice to have a shoulder to cry on, but no,   
coming here won't help. I have too much work to do and no time to spare. It's   
just...remember what we talked about last night? Being honest about our feelings   
and true to ourselves, all that?"

Blair remembered. He remembered thinking that it was a great idea in theory,   
but that hell would freeze over before he put it into practice. "Sarah, are you   
saying you talked to David?"

"Talked at him, anyway. Ignore everything I said, Blair -- my   
conclusions were ivory-tower, utopian bullshit. There's a reason they don't let   
the academics run the world, you know."

"He didn't take it well."

"He didn't take it at all. He just walked out on me. Didn't have a single   
word to say."

Blair winced in sympathy. "Ah, man. That is so uncool. I'm sorry,   
Sarah."

"Yeah. Well, it's not like I'd invested a lot of time into him, but it still   
hurts, you know? Three months may not seem like much, but I expected better from   
him. A student, for god's sake, Blair. That's so...I mean,   
have a little imagination, you know?"

"Sarah, David is not famed in song and story for his creativity. Promiscuity,   
now, that's a different matter."

"I know, I know. I was warned. I was warned by everybody. I'm a   
disgrace to women everywhere."

"Yeah, I'm ashamed to know you. Come on, Sarah, give yourself a break. The   
man is a god come to earth; all the women and half of the men in the department   
have spent a little time drooling over him. You just...drooled a little longer   
than most, and a little more successfully. Most people don't last past the third   
date with him, you know."

"Even you?"

"Ick," Blair said, laughing. "He's so not my type."

"And what is your type? Would that be the tall, handsome super-cop type? The   
straighter-than-a-ruler, touch-me-and-I'll-kill-you type?"

_And there goes my last hope for a stress-free evening. I love you, too,   
Sarah. Not._ "I thought we were talking about you."

"I've talked enough about me. I want to explore someone else's angst-filled   
psyche for a change."

"Well, my angst-filled psyche is off-line for the evening. My tortured   
longing for James Ellison is not up for discussion."

"Fine. Just remember what I said -- telling them how you feel doesn't work.   
Really, Blair...you've got a best friend, a really good one, and it's just not   
worth the risk. If you need proof, take a look at me. The living example of how   
not to leave well enough alone."

"Don't worry. Failing demonic possession or alien influence, I have no   
intention of enlightening him. If Jim even suspected me of entertaining impure   
thoughts about him, he'd kill me in my sleep."

Sarah's reply was lost, over-ridden by a voice from behind him. Jim's voice,   
deep and controlled.

"Not in your sleep," he said. "No challenge."

  
   


* * *

  
   


Blair's heart froze in his chest, actually missing a beat before breaking   
into a trip-hammer rhythm that thundered in his ears. He closed his eyes,   
fighting back panic, fighting just to stay conscious as his world shattered   
around him.

Sarah's voice penetrated slowly, as if from a great distance. "Blair, is something wrong? Talk to me, damn it! What's happening?"

Speaking   
required a monumental act of will. "Karmic justice. I'll call you back." He hung up, switched the ringer off,   
and set the phone down beside him. _Just breathe, Sandburg. Passing out will   
only make things worse. Breathe, and for god's sake keep your mouth shut._ "I   
didn't know you were home, Jim," he said, relieved to find his voice was   
relatively even. "Where's the truck?" _I can almost feel my life falling   
apart._

"The windshield had a disagreement with a stray rock. The rock won. There   
wasn't much to do at the station, so I caught an early ride home with Simon   
while it's in the shop."

Blair nodded absently, utterly failing to process that information. "Sorry   
about the shoes. I didn't know you were here." _As if that weren't painfully   
obvious..._

"And the keys, and the backpack," Jim said, his voice just as calm. "I think   
all that can wait. We need to talk."

"Yeah," Blair said, turning finally to face the Sentinel. "We do."

Jim's expression was unreadable, his eyes shuttered; he leaned against the   
table casually, but there was tension in the lines of his body that couldn't be   
hidden from his Guide. _And I'll always be that,_ Blair thought, fiercely   
possessive of the one thing Jim couldn't take away from him, the one bond that   
couldn't be broken. _Jim may like to think it's my imagination, but I feel it.   
It's as real as anything I've ever known, and it's mine._

Blair drew strength from that undeniable link, clinging to it like a   
lifeline. "You want to start?"

"You're the one keeping secrets, Sandburg."

"Not anymore," he muttered, voice thick with self-disgust. "That was pretty   
much the last hold-out. Look, Jim, just tell me one thing. Are we about to have   
an eviction, or a murder?"

Jim's eyebrows drew together. "What?"

Blair's voice barely shook at all. "Do I pack my things, or hit the ground   
running? Find a new place to live, or just concentrate on getting out alive?"

  
   


* * *

  
   


Stunned beyond his ability to respond, Jim simply looked at Blair, trying   
to put the things he'd just heard into some kind of order. Something he could,   
just possibly, comprehend. Blair wanted him. That much was stunningly,   
heart-breakingly clear. The rest, though... Eviction? Murder? God, what   
did the kid think of him? It stopped Jim's heart to think of Blair afraid of   
him. Afraid for his life? The thought burned into Jim's soul, releasing a depth   
of anger he hadn't known he possessed.

His voice was unsteady, fraught with both pain and fury. "You...my god,   
Chief. You think I could hurt you? After everything that's happened these   
past two years...you can seriously think that?"

"Jim..."

"No! Come on, Sandburg. When you see it happening, how does it work? Do I   
shoot you? Strangle you? Just beat you to death?" He was pacing, shouting, but   
he couldn't help it. He didn't really want to help it. The idea that this man,   
this friend, had been wandering around afraid of him... It cut deep.   
Deeper than he'd ever thought anything could. Didn't Blair have any idea of what it meant for   
them to be Sentinel and Guide? Or, more than that...to be friends?

"Jim...I'm so sorry." Blair's voice was tinged with dismay. "I...no, I didn't   
really think you'd... God, what have I done? What am I doing? I was   
just-- I know you wouldn't hurt me. You're my--"

"Blessed Protector? See, Blair, I always thought that meant something.   
It was a joke, yeah, but it was also true. I'm a Sentinel, and you're my Guide,   
and it's my job...it's my life...to keep you safe." _And a fine mess I've   
made of that, but damn it, I'm trying. Can't he see that? How can he not   
see that?_ Jim's legs felt weak, suddenly, and he sat down on the other   
couch, elbows resting on his knees. "I just...I don't understand how you can   
think I'd ever betray that trust," he said more quietly. "You say you've got   
this thing for me...Do you even know who I am?"

"Jim, I didn't mean--"

"Like hell you didn't."

The pain in Blair's eyes was almost more than Jim could take, but his hurt   
and anger ran deep; he couldn't back down. Blair sagged onto the couch,   
hunched forward with his head in his hands, elbows propped on his knees. Silent   
and still as he was, misery streamed out of him in waves. If Jim extended his   
senses a little, he knew he'd be able to smell it in the air, sharp and acrid,   
like ozone.

It was, he realized, a scent he'd caught often in the past several months.   
How many? How long had Blair been this...torn up? How long had Jim been   
oblivious to his partner's pain?

He could recognize Blair's heartbeat from a mile away, he'd memorized the   
face and the body, he'd catalogued every sense associated with the man... but   
this had slipped by him. Jim took a deep breath, almost a punishment for his   
lack of attention, taking in the scent of sadness.

And realizing, as he did so, that it was a sadness untainted by any trace of   
real fear.

"I'm sorry," Jim said suddenly, anger fading with that realization. The   
relief that took its place was overwhelming; Blair didn't doubt him, at   
least not to that extent. Not to the point of fearing for his safety. Now... Now   
he had to think about the rest of it. About Blair wanting him.

Blair looked up and laughed, a choked sound that held no humor. "Yeah. I've   
totally destroyed my life and our friendship, and you're sorry. Just don't let   
it happen again, okay?"

Jim ignored the sarcasm. "I won't. Next time I'll be more observant. Look...I   
over-reacted. I know you're not afraid of me. I'd be able to tell if you were.   
It just...took me by surprise to hear you say that kind of thing."

"God, Jim. My mouth was in gear but my brain was idling. You threaten my life   
about ten times a day, man, but we both know you're just blowing steam. Better   
to vent than explode, right?"

"Yeah. And it's better to talk about things than to let them fester. Right?"

"Jim..."

"Blair, I don't hate you." Jim wanted to say more, but the words wouldn't   
come. "I'm not throwing you out. We're still friends. Okay? Stop me when this gets too sappy even for you."

This time the laughter was genuine.

"You're unreal, Jim," Blair said finally. "And I have so   
underestimated you. I'm sorry. You deserve better than the way I've been   
acting."

"Just...don't ever think I could hurt you, Sandburg, okay? Don't even imagine   
it. The rest, we'll deal with."

Blair sighed, looking away from his friend. "Will we? I know you're trying to   
make things right, Jim. It's a really...friendly...thing to do, and I should   
have expected it. I just don't think it's going to work this time, not with me   
living here."

"You don't have to move out. I don't want you to move out."

"When I found out...when I realized what was going on with me... I made my   
own little private set of House Rules, you know? Rule number one was, 'Don't   
lust after the Sentinel'. That was pretty much a non-starter; I blew it before I   
even made it up. Rule number two was 'If you break rule number one, never let   
him find out.' By my count, I'm down two for two here. That tells me it's time   
to leave."

Jim's voice was gentle, to take away the sting of his words. "Leaving   
is the classic Sandburg response to conflict, Chief, but that doesn't   
mean it's the right thing to do."

Blair's eyes snapped up. "That...that is totally unfair, Jim. You think I'm   
leaving for me? Think I want to go?" He laughed unpleasantly. "If it were   
up to me, Jim, I'd stay forever. But that is not an option here. I could   
work with you before, live with you, Guide you. But it's different now. You   
know now."

"Blair--"

"It's all different," he repeated. "I can almost hear your thoughts, Jim.   
You're sitting there thinking about every time I touched you. Was I getting off   
on it? Were all those friendly nudges, those casual contacts, just cleverly   
disguised gropes? And the things I said to you about our friendship, our   
partnership. What did those things really mean?"

Jim looked away guiltily. Blair wasn't far off the mark at all, but not for   
the reasons he thought. _Come on, Ellison. He's baring his soul. Let him off the   
hook._

But he couldn't. Not yet. Jim breathed deeply, trying to control the rapid   
pace of his heartbeat and find a way to calm himself. He'd tell Blair   
everything, but...not yet. He had to think, to reason.

And to do that, he needed to know all of it.

"Why don't you start back at the beginning?" he said.

  
   


* * *

  
   


Blair leaned back into the cushions of the couch, trembling slightly with the   
need to flee. "I don't know where the beginning is, Jim," he said when he   
could find his voice. "It kind of...snuck up on me. At first, I thought it was   
just...you know, hero-worship or something. Tagging after you, helping with the   
police work, helping with your senses. Then we realized I was your Guide, and   
then..."

"Then...?"

"And then it got worse." _Who are you kidding, Sandburg? It got fucking   
terminal._

"Why didn't you ever tell me?"

Blair rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. "And they say there are no stupid   
questions."

"Come on, Chief. You can't have thought I'd hate you for being gay."

"I'm not gay."

"Okay, bisex--"

"I'm not bisexual, either."

Jim raised his eyebrows, questioning. Waiting.

Blair sighed. "Numerous as we are, my friend, the group of people who have   
found themselves attracted to James Ellison have yet to choose a group name and   
incorporate."

"So you're saying--"

Blair stood abruptly   
and started to pace, his eyes fairly blazing with the passion he'd been keeping   
so carefully banked. "I want you, Jim. There's no convenient label for   
it. You can't name it. It just...is. I've never wanted a man before you, and now   
that I do want you, I don't want anyone else. No, I don't   
understand it. Yes, it scares the hell out of me. No, I don't know what to do   
about it. There's a slight possibility that it has something to do with the bond   
between a Sentinel and a Guide, but if that's true, Burton wasn't talking and   
believe me, he would have had something to say. That man was like the world's   
only NC-17 anthropologist. If he didn't have data on it, there's no data out   
there to be had. The stronger theory would be that I'm just a really,   
fundamentally screwed up individual. Now, is this enough honesty and sharing for   
you, Jim, or would you like me to rip my guts out so you can read my entrails?"

Jim blinked, looking as startled by Blair's last shot as by any of the rest   
of it. "Thanks for that image, Sandburg. I'll treasure it always."

As bad as things were, Blair couldn't help smiling a little. "No problem," he   
said quietly.

"When did you first know that it wasn't...you know, just a platonic thing?"

"Peru," Blair said without hesitation. "That's where it all changed. Or not   
really changed, it all just got so...clear, you know? All the confusion was   
stripped away, and everything I felt made sense. I had a lot of time to think   
when you were off communing with theologically insupportable feline jungle   
spirits."

Blair glanced down at Jim and smiled, taking the edge off the joke. The look   
Jim returned was amused, comfortable...and very, very warm. Surely, not as warm   
as... No. Surely not that warm. Blair shook his head, and continued. "It came   
down to what I wanted to be, Jim. There was the whole Borneo thing hanging over   
us, and it was like...like my life could go either way. It was a cusp. I just   
looked down both roads, you know, and I felt like I could see what was waiting.   
On the one side, there was my normal, comfortable life. Go to class, finish the   
dissertation, get on the tenure track, get married, get old. Very few bullets   
and almost no psychopaths involved. Just...life, as I always expected it to be.   
And then on the other side, there was you, and me as your Guide."

"And you chose me."

"Yeah. I did."

"Is it worth it?"

Blair looked up, grinning ruefully. "I think it is. Pathetic, huh?"

"Loyal," Jim corrected absently. "Maybe too loyal."

"Back up, man. You just lost me."

Jim ignored him, forging ahead. "I want to know more about this   
Sentinel-Guide connection you've been trying to sell me on, Blair," he said   
decisively. "You said your feelings...whatever they are...could be a part of it.   
Is that true? Could this just be a genetic thing?"

Blair frowned, a little disturbed by the intensity in Jim's eyes. He'd rarely   
seen the man so focused, so intent, and never so centered on   
anthropological theories. "To be honest, Jim, I hadn't given it a lot of   
thought," Blair said slowly. "But look, if you're trying to find some kind   
of...I don't know, some outside excuse for me, so you can feel   
comfortable with this, don't bother. I take full responsibility, okay? I want   
you. I can't seem to help that, but it doesn't mean I have to act on it. Up   
until now, I've been doing a fairly good job of keeping it out of your way." He   
stood in front of Jim, putting the full force of his determination into his eyes.

Jim shook his head, and stood up. His hands rose slowly to Blair's shoulders,   
and his eyes were very, very deep. Blair swallowed hard, bracing himself against   
the flood of emotion and desire the contact released. _What is this, a test,   
Jim?_ he demanded silently, unable to speak. _I thought finals week was over..._

When Jim's hands moved to his hair, Blair was unable to stop the soft sound   
of need that escaped his lips. The tie that had bound his curls back was gently   
removed, cast aside, and his hair was being stroked. Finger-combed slowly, from   
the skin outward, and Jim's eyes were still on him, but the look in them was now   
unmistakable.

It wasn't a dream. It wasn't wishful thinking. It wasn't a fantasy.

Jim wanted him, too. And it was all very, very real.

  
   


* * *

  
   


Jim couldn't stop himself. Or maybe he could have, if he'd had any desire to   
try, but that was gone. What he wanted to do was touch Blair, and so he did it.   
Carefully, gently, just the way he'd imagined it would be. The hair twining   
around his fingers was softer than he'd expected, and thicker. The way Blair   
swayed toward him reached into Jim's heart and filled it, made it whole. The   
look in Blair's eyes, when he finally understood, was absolutely incandescent,   
and Jim warmed under it like a man who'd never known the touch of sunlight. It   
was a look that completed him, the look he'd been waiting to see for years. Not   
fear or anger or dismay, not the expression his nightmares had conjured.

Joy. Surprise, yes, that too. And because it was Blair, because nothing ever   
escaped that wildly unpredictable sense of humor, there was amusement there as   
well, directed at both of them.

"God, Jim," Blair said finally, smiling, leaning his head back into Jim's   
hands. "What a pair of idiots."

Jim nodded, returning the smile. "Me more than you. I've been hiding it   
longer."

"And more successfully," Blair said, his grin softening the accusation. "I   
never even suspected..."

"You weren't supposed to. I never would have said anything."

"I would have," Blair said, his look both certain and ashamed. "I don't think   
I could have lasted much longer."

Jim pulled Blair in close to him, wrapping strong arms around him. "Thank   
God. One of us had some sense." It felt good to hold him, to feel his heartbeat   
instead of just hearing it. It felt right. He squeezed, and smiled again when   
Blair's arms encircled him and returned the embrace. _This is the way it's meant   
to be,_ something whispered from the quiet of Jim's heart. _The two of us   
together. The promise fulfilled._

A frown touched Jim's lips. _What promise? What--_

And the voice of the panther echoed in his mind.

#To do so will require your life and your soul...#

He'd thought he was trading his life and soul for his Sentinel abilities.   
Service, for the ability to serve.

Could he have been that wrong? His life, his soul...Blair?

#I had a lot of time to think when you were off communing with theologically   
insupportable feline jungle spirits...#

No. No, this couldn't be about that. It was his choice, not Blair's.   
His choice to go ahead with the Sentinel work, to take that responsibility.

#It was a cusp. I just looked down both roads, you know, and I felt like I   
could see what was waiting...#

#To do so will require your life and your soul...#

#Okay, I'm ready.#

Jim pushed at Blair's shoulders, pushed him away. The blue eyes that looked   
up at him reflected hurt, confusion...and utter devotion.

And Jim's heart cracked.

#Peru. That's where it all changed.#

_No. It's where I changed it for you. I didn't know. God, Blair, I didn't   
know!_

He'd made the choice in ignorance, and Blair had paid for it. Jim's reward --   
his life and soul, his Guide -- was Blair's...what? Bondage, that was it. Blair   
was bound to him. Bound by a promise he'd never made.

"We can't do this," he said quietly, stepping away from Blair, creating a   
space between himself and his friend's warmth. "It's not right. It's not fair."

"Jim...?"

"It's not fair to you, Blair. I..."

Jim filled his lungs with air and let it out slowly, trying to relax. "This   
isn't what you want," he said finally. "I did this to you. Me and that damn   
panther."

  
   


* * *

  
   


After a long, stunned moment, Blair laughed. The relief flooding through him   
demanded it.

He'd thought it was something horrible. Unimaginably dire things had flashed   
through his mind, everything from hidden deadly diseases to latent homophobia.   
This, however, Blair could handle. This was his turf.

"Jim, calm down." Blair led him to the couch and gently pushing him   
down. He perched on the coffee table across from Jim, smiling. "Don't you think   
I've thought of that? Come on, I'm an anthropologist. It's my job to study   
people's behavior, and that includes my own."

Jim shrugged off Blair's gentle touch, scowling. "Come on, Sand...Blair.   
You're the scientist here. Work with me on this, okay? You started having these   
feelings in Peru, when I promised my life and my soul to this Sentinel thing.   
When I--"

"No. I said the feelings became clear to me in Peru, but they started   
earlier. I can pinpoint it if you want."

Jim had grown very still; his sharp nod was so quick Blair thought he might   
have imagined it.

"Laura. Remember that? When I found you with her in that closet, I was   
jealous. God, that messed with my mind. I had no idea what was going on. That   
whole trip to the monastery, I told you that was for your senses, right?" Blair   
grinned, remembering how nervous he'd been. He'd just known Jim could read him   
like a book. "Well, I lied. Sorry. I needed to get us someplace quiet, so I   
could figure out what was up with me. I was sure it was just some wacky Guide   
thing, a protective instinct, and I needed to get us someplace safe to see if it   
would go away."

Even Jim had to laugh at that. "You certainly blew that one."

"Tell me about it. I am no judge of 'safe,'   
man. I've stopped even trying."

"So that didn't work, what--"

"No, it worked well enough," Blair said. "Not the way I thought, but I found   
out what I needed to know. When it was all over, and you told me you wanted to   
pick the location next time... Well. It just knocked me over, Jim. There   
wasn't anything to protect you from then, the danger had passed. The feeling   
hadn't."

Blair took a deep breath. His body screamed for him to go to Jim, touch him,   
taste him, but he fought it back and stood up, moving away from his friend.   
"I'm...just going to pace for a while, okay?" he said, pulling his glasses from   
the pocket of his T-shirt and slipping them on. With trembling fingers, he   
picked up the tie Jim had tugged from his hair and bound his curls back again. A   
glance toward the couch, a risk he couldn't help taking, found Jim's eyes on   
him, dark with intent. Blair smiled, ducking his head. "You are so not   
helping me here, man... look someplace else, okay?"

"Yeah." Jim hid his own smile and focused his eyes on the coffee table in   
front of him. "Sorry."

"All right." The distraction of Jim's heavy blue gaze removed, Blair slipped   
easily into scientist mode, thoughts ordering themselves almost magically in his   
mind. "You want to deal with this scientifically, fine. We can do that. What   
have we got here? Two men, previously straight. One is a Sentinel, the other his   
Guide. Both are experiencing...what? A strengthening of the bond? A...pull,   
toward each other. Emotional, and--"

"And physical," Jim interrupted. "Definitely physical."

Blair closed his eyes and swallowed hard, the husky tone of Jim's voice   
breaking through his concentration and wreaking havoc on his self-control.   
"Yeah," he said carefully, glad for once not to be a Sentinel. His own five,   
boring, unenhanced senses were enough to deal with; he didn't even want to think   
about what Jim must be going through. "That, too."

"So what does that give us?"

"Let's work it out in terms of the Sentinel's purpose, and the Guide's. Start   
with what we know: The Sentinel protects and defends; the Guide nurtures and   
supports. Two sides of the same coin."

Jim nodded. "I've been thinking. What if Sentinels and Guides aren't just   
emotionally, spiritually linked? What if there's a genetic link, too?"

Blair grinned. "What, you mean like relatives? You want to go back and find   
out where your father was twenty-six years ago? Cause from what I've heard,   
Naomi was not his type."

"Cute, Sandburg." Jim smiled, still avoiding his Guide's eyes. "But I'm not   
talking about us. What if, in the past, there was a genetic link? Like, maybe   
they would be brothers, or brother and sister, something like that? They'd just   
about have to come from the same tribe, wouldn't they? And if they were related,   
maybe that bond strengthened when they became Sentinel and Guide."

"I'm not sure where you're taking this, Jim."

"Okay. Suppose they come from the same tribe, and they're related. The bond   
between them -- the genetic, blood bond -- strengthens when they become Sentinel   
and Guide. It would happen...because of the need for mutual protection, that   
kind of thing. But suppose something happened, and a Sentinel from one tribe was   
paired with a Guide from another, someone not related. Maybe in that case, they   
would... instinctively... seek out another kind of bond. Strengthen that,   
in place of the missing genetic link. Maybe that's what's happening here with   
us, now?"

Blair's eyes widened and fairly glowed with excitement. "That's it!"

Jim looked startled. "It is?"

Blair laughed. "No...okay, kind of. Jim, there's a reason you're the cop and   
I'm the anthropologist, okay? You're completely, totally wrong -- right up until   
the end. I have got to write this down. I can't believe I missed   
it...it's so obvious!" The light of discovery warmed in Blair's eyes, his   
excitement palpable as he searched the room for a pad and pen, then started   
writing. "Burton had to have known about this. I just hope it's in one of the   
journals that survived."

"Okay, Chief, tell me what's going on under all that hair."

As he spoke, Blair's hand flew over the page, eyes flicking up now and then   
to make sure his partner was paying attention. "Look, Jim, you were almost   
there. It's not genetic, because that's not the way people work. It was only   
after we started to form societies that the relationship between siblings   
began to be cooperative. Social needs in competition with instinctive behaviors   
lead directly to the conflicts we call 'sibling rivalry.' See? It's a clich   
because it's true, and it always has been true. The tendency is for siblings to   
compete -- for resources, for territory, for parental attention. You know,   
survival of the fittest. The kind of bonding required between a Sentinel and a   
Guide would be in direct opposition to that instinct -- it couldn't work.

"But there's another instinct that's perfect for the Sentinel/Guide   
relationship. Something that runs deeper than blood."

"And that's..."

"Mating!" Blair grinned, as amused by the idea as he was excited. "Think   
about it, Jim! All animals instinctively protect their mates; some for longer   
periods of time than others, but it's always there. And from another angle: What   
would happen if the Sentinel and Guide weren't mated? They'd be forced to mate   
outside of the bond, which would lead to divided loyalties. The Sentinel would   
be torn between protecting the Guide, the Tribe, and the Mate. Prioritizing   
would become too difficult, the decision-making window too crowded with   
considerations. The Guide would be torn between nurturing a mate and nurturing   
the Sentinel. The strength of the Sentinel/Guide bond lies in it's exclusivity,   
Jim, that's got to be it!"

"But if that's true, it's not just the Sentinel who's genetically unique. The   
Guide is, too. He'd have to be, to share that...compulsion to join." Jim's face   
reddened, but he held his ground, refusing to be embarrassed by a genetic   
imperative.

Blair nodded enthusiastically. "Right! They hook up because of that   
compatibility. Almost literally made for each other. The proper instincts   
\-- nurturing, instructing, guiding the Sentinel -- and the ability to   
work with the bond, would be factory installed."

Jim frowned. "I don't like it. Everything you've said...it still means this   
thing isn't about us."

Blair groaned impatiently. He was about to spontaneously combust and Jim   
wanted an anthropology lecture. There was no justice in the world. Mr. Action   
was suddenly intellectually curious, and Blair, the king of talking it over,   
wanted nothing more than to shut Jim up and then nail him to the floor. _In a   
gentle, tender, and totally romantic way, of course,_ Blair amended. _Yeah.   
Right._ "Jim," he said, his voice husky with barely-repressed need. "You   
are a Sentinel. It's a part of you. Being a Guide is part of me.   
These are just...just words we've chosen to describe what we've always been. The   
bond between us makes this a little easier, yeah. Maybe without it we'd never   
have been able to admit these feelings to ourselves, let alone to each other.   
That doesn't mean the feelings aren't real, or come from outside of us."   
_Surely that'll do it. Surely that's enough. The couch is kind of small. Which   
bedroom...?_

Miraculously, Jim was nodding. Then he was speaking again, which wasn't so   
great. "So this is...I mean, is it Jim Ellison you want? Not the Sentinel?"

He didn't get it. Blair was beginning to worry that he'd never get it. "Damn   
it, Jim! There's no difference. Look, if you can you show me the Sentinel ,   
I'll look him over and tell you if he pushes my buttons, okay? I just really   
seriously hope you don't think I'm turned on because you can hear a bug chewing   
grass at fifty paces or spot a piece of yarn a hundred yards away. I'm not   
staring at your mouth because I know it can taste one molecule of vanilla in a   
cup of water. I'm staring at it because I would really, deeply appreciate it if   
you could find some use for it that doesn't involve talking. The sooner the   
better. Am I getting through here?"

Jim smiled slowly, seeming to come to a decision. His eyes, when they met   
Blair's, held less curiosity and more...interest. "So much for scientific   
detachment."

"That kind of went out the window when I started lusting after my thesis   
subject, Jim."

Smiling almost shyly, Jim held Blair's gaze. "Don't hold your breath for an   
apology, Sandburg," he said quietly.

Blair's lips curled slowly upward, eyes alight with pleasure. _Oh, yes.   
Finally. It's about time._ "Jim..." he said. "Did I mention...that when   
you look at me like that, I want to..."

"To...?" Jim's voice was even softer, barely audible. He rose from the couch   
and crossed the room, stopping directly in front of Blair, only a breath away.

A breath Blair couldn't seem to find. He looked up, found ice-blue eyes   
filled with a strange, uncharacteristic warmth, and decided that breathing was   
over-rated.

"Push me away again, Ellison, and I am not going to be responsible for   
my actions," Blair said, moving in close.

Jim's answer was silent, but convincing. His hands moved to Blair's face and   
tilted it up, framing the strong jaw and running thumbs lightly over the lower   
lip. A slight pressure opened Blair's mouth, and Jim took it with his own. Blair   
moaned, the desperate sound lost in the kiss. The first touch of Jim's tongue   
against his struck a chord that resonated from his mouth to his groin, bringing   
Blair to a shuddering hardness. He surrendered to it, lost himself in it, his   
body moving against Jim's without caution or inhibition.

Jim's response was immediate, possessive, taking Blair's narrow hips in his   
hands and pulling them up, close, heat to heat. His mouth grew demanding as all   
his questions were answered, taking in earnest what before he'd only requested.   
There was no hesitation, no pause for thought. Blair reveled in the sweet,   
dangerous thrill of passion echoing between them, undeniable.

Even this, the first, limited sharing of their bodies, ignited a response in   
Blair that was wilder and stronger than he'd thought possible. It was   
companioned by a surge of tenderness, electric need entwined with sweet, strong   
emotion. He felt like a conduit, communicating with his body a range of feeling   
too deep to be his alone. With the touch of their lips the bond was consummated,   
and Jim joined him in the heat of it, completing him.

Sanity returned in slow stages, the fire receding for a few merciful moments.

"Dear God in Heaven." Jim pressed his forehead   
against Blair's and struggled for air.

"Didn't think you were the religious type, Jim."

"Five minutes ago I wasn't."

Blair smiled. "I hope you chose a permissive god."

"Blair..."

"Yeah?" Blair leaned back in Jim's arms. With strong, gentle hands he framed   
Jim's jaw and tilted his face up, forcing eye contact. "What is it, Jim?"

"We're both new to this. I don't know how to proceed. Where to we go with   
it?"

Blair thought about it for perhaps three seconds. "Your bed is bigger," he   
said slowly, "but mine is closer, and size isn't everything."

Jim grinned, allowing himself to be tugged toward Blair's bedroom. "Hidden   
insecurities, Blair?"

"You're welcome to investigate." Leering at Jim was a new experience, but it   
was definitely one Blair could get used to.

"Maybe we should...you know. Read a few books about--"

Blair cut the sentence short with a kiss, pressing Jim down onto the bed and   
stretching out beside him. When he pulled back, Jim's eyes were slightly glazed.   
"What was that you were saying, Jim?" Blair asked, his voice deep, teasing.

"Ah...." Jim closed his eyes, and pulled Blair's head back down.   
"Nothing...." he said quietly.

Blair grinned, and ran his tongue lightly over Jim's lips, seeking entrance,   
then pulling back again as they opened for him. "You're sure?"

"Blair!" Jim demanded, half-moaning.

"I never thought much of second-hand sourcing, anyway," Blair said, smiling   
against Jim's mouth.

And then the time for words was past them, and for a long while neither man   
said anything at all.


End file.
